Professional Widows
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: The story of Prince Horace and Jemmy was hardly over.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Sid Fleicshman/Max Brindle. Except the _Countess Maria, _who is my creation (and she is very wicked). Lyrics are Tori Amos'-- she inspires some of these scenes.

**Universe: **_Prince Brat and the Whipping Boy._ Mostly movieverse, because eight year olds are too young and Nic Knight and Truan Munro are very adorable. But bookverse for the _facts, _such as, **no **Annyrose, and **creepy **murderers. (Those two in the film are brilliant but come on! Too funny! They were disturbing in the book.) I _will _be using movie!Betsy &Cap. Nipps, though.

**Rating: **T. May go to **M.**

**Warnings: **Slash, slight torture, sexuality and possibly light language. Jemmy/Horace.

**Author's Note: **I _love _this universe _and _this pairing. If you read this, **please review **because I know hardly anyone will even be looking for this.

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"_Maybe we're a bliss: of another kind." _-TORI AMOS

_Professional Widows

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_

**Chapter I-- Unabridged**

_**There were the likenesses of two boys, **young men, rather, portrayed in a large and handsome portrait which was displayed in the main hall of the palace. _Their story was popular in the province and beyond, their story was inspiring, tear-springing, loving and daring. Their story was only half-written, however, but the two of them were writing chapters daily, juicy paragraphs by the minute.

A prince known as _Brat _and his whipping boy Jemmy, as the old story went, had stolen away one night with a picnic basket and pure intentions and had been intercepted by two of the most wanted murderers in all of England: highwaymen Hold-Your-Nose-Billy (a huge, seven foot tall, burly beast with a black beard) and his apprentice Cutwater (a slight, strange man with dark eyes and a soft, affectionate murmur of a voice that would make the hair on grown men's necks stand on end). The boys escaped and learned more about each other--- they became best friends and class systems no longer mattered to them. Through this journey, Prince Brat had learned that his nasty ways were due to lack of attention from parental figures (specifically his recently widowed father, King Horace) and Jemmy learned that intelligence comes in many forms. When the prince and his friend returned to the castle, they were changed lads, which then changed the king, which changed the way the kingdom's policies dealt with the poor and orphaned. Laws changed, deals were made, treaties accomplished. The kingdom became a much better place, all due to this story.

However, if the citizens of the kingdom knew the continuing chapters of their beloved story, they might not be so keen on the two boys, _young men, rather_, who were so highly esteemed.

Five years had passed since the boys' bravery, and five years had shaped the two twelve year olds into taller seventeen year olds who were, for lack of a better phrase, _very close. _Jemmy and Horace, since their adventure, had become totally inseparable, attending lessons together, taking meals together, going on countryside and city jaunts together. They were, to the common eye, not unlike other young boys with good mates. They were, to the common eye, _just friends_.

Oh, but the chapters that Horace and Jemmy wrote during cold nights in the castle, the beautiful cursive script running up and down their backs and throughout blankets, was translated to mean more than _just friends. _The lip prints on Jemmy's abdomen and the small bruises on the prince's neck coincided with the popular opinion that they were _just friends. _The welts and yelps and thoughtless words were surely not spoken and accomplished by _just friends. _

That popular little Brattenburg bedtime story, of peace and tranquility? That story about winning back a father's love and gaining a true best friend?

Why, it _certainly _was true, and it _certainly _was well and good, but it did not stop there.

There were volumes of chapters that Horace and Jemmy wrote inklessly, on sheets and each other, and these chapters were thicker and more delicious than fresh clotted cream.

But not _everything_ is all wounds and roses.

There were territory disputes and treaty-breachings to contend with in this little, personal kingdom.


	2. Chapter 2

_PROFESSIONAL_

WIDOWS

**CHAPTER II**

"_And it'll do me no pleasure, I can assure yeh," the great man sneered wickedly, his lips soggy with the juices of the garlic which he sordidly chewed. He raised the riding crop into the air, his apprentice gleaming and holding the corpulent boy with ringlets by his ankles. The black-bearded highwayman grinned widely and snapped the whip smartly against the boy's back. A small string of blood appeared through the fine, lacy white of the child's shirt. Both men laughed loudly. _

"_Harder, Billy, I didn' 'ear a peep outta 'im!" the thin man smiled lightly, his eyes so kind that it was disgusting, and how he caressed the boy's ankles!_

"_You ain't gonna hear nothin'!" responded a slight, chestnut-haired boy, who was staring in horror. "You stop that!"_

_Billy turned his head and lowered his gaze to catch the speaker's eye contact. "You make one more noise, and I'll fix you, royalty or no."_

"_Don't say a word!" the captive boy proclaimed. "They'll kill you!"_

"_I wouldn't care!" was the response.

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"_You're a starfucker. Just like my Daddy… So what is loving? When you're just like my Daddy, selling his baby, selling his baby." _-- TORI AMOS

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Prince Horace sat majestically upon his four-poster, one leg stretched dramatically across the other. One glance at his calm nature would leave one feeling that he was presently satisfied; however, with greater knowledge, it could be determined that he was not satisfied in the least. He was actually quite worried—the way he pursed his lips let that be known, and his foot was twitching impatiently.

A clock chimed from somewhere far off in the castle, and the prince sat up, alert. _One, two, three- _twelve chimes in all and then silence took over. Horace waited edgily, tilting forward, but the quiet said nothing and brought less.

Slumping backward against the headboard, Prince Horace pouted extravagantly, his eyes wide with question, his arms folded against his chest.

And then, suddenly, two knocks sounding from the doorway. Horace hopped off the four poster and leaned against a beam.

The door swung open slowly, and a slight, dark-haired boy slipped in, closing it quietly.

"_Where in the Devil were you?" _snapped the prince loudly.

"**Keep your voice down!" **whispered Jemmy, his eyes widening. "Honestly! Get me killed, you will!"

"Let them come! You don't care enough to be punctual, so I hope they _do _find you!"

"_Gaw, _you don't mean all that. Don't be sore; I was half-way up the stairway and I thought I heard--"

"_What? A ghost?" _snapped Horace. "No one's awake at this hour."

"You don't know that! Always safe up here in your chambers! Would it bother you to traipse down to _my _quarters every now and then?" Jemmy's eyes darkened.

Horace stood firmly, one leg tucked behind the other in a very poised, theatrical fashion. "As a matter of fact it _would_. I'm the _prince, _remember?"

"How could I _forget? _You're _right. _Maybe I _shouldn't _be up here!" Jemmy declared, throwing up his hands in agony.

"Well—" Horace raised his eyebrow. "Since you took the time—" He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the boy's lower back, loosely, almost casual.

--"Knew you'd come around—" Jemmy grinned good-naturally and shook his bangs out of his face.

"Never thought you'd get here—"

"I'm here," Jemmy said reassuringly, and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. "Ain't that all what matters now?" He placed his hands around Horace's neck and rested his head against the boy's shoulder. "You know, you give me a shiver today."

"How?"

"Don't say _how! _You know. You _expressed an interest to-ward me." _Jemmy paused awkwardly. "In front of Peckwit."

Horace snickered aloud.

"What!?"

"Expressed an interest! That's rich. I _kissed _you, is that what you mean? Besides, he wasn't _there."_

"_He was outside!"_

"Not in the stable. He was _outside _the stable."

"He could've come in! You can't be so _bold."_

Horace made a face. "I can't help it. I felt like doing so and I did."

"Honestly, and they say you're not Prince Brat no longer."

"That isn't nice."

"Just—" Jemmy looked seriously suddenly. "_Be careful."_

Pressing his lips to Jemmy's, Horace caught him up in yet another kiss. Breaking away, he said deviously: "I'll try."

What followed next was, obviously, the struggle to undo buttons, six buttons in total, three on each pair of breeches, and Jemmy made some sort of sly comment on how foolish the other boy had been, leaving _all _of his clothes on, even his stockings, when the trousers were pulled _down _almost violently: _"honestly"—_did he want this to take all day?

Horace walked backward and slid effortlessly onto his bed and spread his legs generously, Jemmy standing between them and kissing his mouth, cheeks, and chin. Horace scooted down the bedding, undoing his shirt and cravat, throwing them onto the ground. Jemmy was all ready bare-chested.

It was a startling contrast: tan to Elizabethan pallid, lean to broad-shouldered, dark to blond, even to freckled, as Jemmy climbed over Horace and steadily went to work, pushing, labored breaths coming from the both of them, until one or the other cried out, and Jemmy fell to Horace's side, and was immediately drawn into the crook of the boy's neck, Horace pulling Jemmy to his side in a very authoritative manner.

The sheets were drawn up as though curtains.

It was silent for nearly an hour.

Jemmy shifted.

"What were you thinking of?" Horace questioned, his arm still holding Jemmy to his side.

Jemmy gave a strained smile. "Just _how _your father is going to kill me when he finds out."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"That's the thing—I'm _not being ridiculous! I'm being honest. _Hung? Quartered? Imprisonment!?"

"You don't need to worry about that—"

Jemmy sighed and pulled away. "Look, _you _might not be worried but _I _am! Fathers don't _like _when other men sodomize their sons!"

Horace laughed aloud. "Don't be—"

"_Don't tell me what to be! _You can't throw your crown around in hopes of gettin' what you want all the time! If the king discovers me, he won't listen to you!"

"He _will."_

"He **won't, **Horace and that's that! Why can't you understand that it isn't right?"

Horace sat up and shrugged. "Because it's right to me, and if Father _did _grow angry, I'd just defend you, and nothing would come of it. He's not going to _kill _you."

"It's nice that you're so positive all of the sudden!"

"Why don't you _calm down, Jemmy?"_

"I'm off to bed," the ex-whipping boy replied. "_My _bed."


End file.
